I only understand realism.
If the novelist shares his or her problems with the characters, he or she is able to study his personal unconscious.
I don't think humor is forced upon my universe; it's a part of it.
I like the beauty of Faulkner's poetry. But I don't like his themes, not at all.
What better model of a synthesis than a nocturnal dream? Dreams simplify, don't they?
I am very interested in what has been called bad taste. I believe the fear of displaying a soi-disant bad taste stops us from venturing into special cultural zones.